A Christmas Dinner To Remember
by SherlockedSherlockian
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Two best friends, both 17. You could imagine the Christmas dinners... It's another traditional Holmes and Watson family gathering to mark Christmas day. What happens when you add some wine, great cooking and a little family fun? (Originally an Omegle roleplay. Thank you to my fabulous stranger who played Sherlock! Reviews are jam donuts!)


John (17) flicked a pea at Sherlock and looked over at his best friend with a giggle, waiting to see his reaction. He loved Christmas dinners. By tradition, the complete Holmes and Watson family – cousins and family friends included – would get together for the weekend at either John or Sherlock's house. This year, it was the Holmes family's turn to host the gathering. The blond loved the intricate, sprawling Holmes Manor – he had been visiting as long as he could remember, as the two boys' parents had been good friends long before either of the teenagers were born. By now, pretty much everyone had had a little too much to drink, and the conversation was relaxed and playful; John was thoroughly enjoying himself.

Sherlock (17) glanced up just as the small projectile connected with his temple. He narrowed his eyes at John and shook his head before subtly shooting one back at him, catching him square between the eyes, pulling the first genuine chuckle out of him since the start of the evening. He hated his friend for making him laugh at one of these horrendous dinners with his family, emphasis on /his/, because he found John's family delightful compared to his own. But John, John was what made them bearable, if he didn't have his best friend he'd have lost his mind years ago.

"Oi!" John giggled back, picking up a small mince pie.  
"John Watson," his mum chided in a warning tone, though her gaze was fond, "violence is never the answer. Please save your altercations involving food until later tonight, yeah?"  
Pouting, the blond lowered the pie and instead slipped off his shoe, tickling Sherlock's thigh with his foot under the table.

Sherlock gave him a smug smirk at that and flicked another pea at him subtly, managing to get him without anyone noticing. "Yes John, never the answer." he chimed in teasingly before his knee jerked and hit the underside of the table, pulling a pained groan from the dark haired teen as he reached under the table to rub at it, giving the extra foot a tickle while he was at it.

John failed miserably in suppressing his triumphant laughter, and Mrs Watson tutted when John reached for a bottle of wine to refill their glasses. "I believe you boys have both had enough for one night, don't you?"  
John, knowing exactly how to get to her, stuck out his bottom lip and gave her his best puppy eyes, shrugging innocently. "Please mum?" he asked softly, "Just for one night - it /is/ Christmas."  
Looking from her son to the darker-haired boy (who might as well have been her own son too, considering how fond she was of him), the woman sighed, shaking her head affectionately. "Go on then. Don't complain if you're sick in the morning, though."  
Just then, Mrs Hudson, their housekeeper, walked in with plates of cakes, pastries and other desserts. She gave the pair of teenagers a wink. "I made your favourites! Jam donuts and tiramisu."

Following the blond's lead, Sherlock widened his eyes innocently and gave John's mother a charming smile which in turn, turned gleeful as she gave in. He held his glass out to John, barely registering the fact that there was still a foot on his leg that didn't belong to him. When his glass was full again and he was sipping at the wine, he remembered and snaked his fingers under the bottom of John's trousers, teasing two long fingers along his ankle, nails brushing skin while he kept what must have looked like an annoyingly straight face.

John jumped in his seat, spilling some of his drink down his shirt with a surprised gasp, which was promptly followed by helpless laughter. This time, his father looked up at him with a slight frown. "John, what in the world is the matter?"  
"I...I...uhm, nothing, dad." He mumbled, cheeks tinging pink, "Sherlock just – "  
"Don't you start blaming poor Sherlock now. He didn't do a thing." He sent a secretive wink at the boy, "Look at him, all angelic. You're the one causing the trouble."

Sherlock had a hard time not breaking into a fit of giggles as his friend jumped. Oh payback was sweet. Made all the sweeter when his friend got another telling off, even if his father was doing so teasingly. He nodded at the angelic comment before tracing the word with his nail across his skin.  
"Sherlock, whatever you are doing, stop it. It's not exactly appropriate." He glanced at his mother to protest but there was a fond smile on her lips too, which made him happy in more ways than one, mostly because it made his brother's face twist as though he'd been given a pint of sour milk.  
"I haven't done a thing," he stated simply, taking John's father's words with a soft smile.

John was fully aware that Mrs Holmes had a particular liking for him - she didn't let just anyone drop in and visit, after all - and he decided to take advantage of that fact. "He's being mean, Mrs Holmes," he said in a childlike voice, "and he flicked peas at me. It hurt."  
Mr Watson rolled his eyes. "You're being a drama-queen, John."

Sherlock shot him a fond look, composed of a teasing smirk and narrowed his eyes. "Not to mention a major kiss ass." he murmured quietly before edging his nails further up his friend's calf, tucking them round slightly and easily teasing the back of his knee with light, tickling strokes.  
He got another look from his mother, a quirked eyebrow this time. "I'm just itching my knee. Is that a crime, mother?" He smiled at her loving eye roll before she returned to conversation with John's parents.

"Sherlock.../stop/! It /tickles/!" John was currently falling off his chair with helpless laughter, grinning and giggling all at once. "Sherlock! Please! Mercy!"

Sherlock simply raised an eyebrow and watched his friend's apparent descent into madness. "I have no idea what you're on about John." A barely noticeable smirk graced his lips.

John pulled his foot roughly away from Sherlock's grasp, panting breathlessly on the floor. Harry raised both eyebrows in amusement but said nothing. Giving Sherlock a warning look, John sat back on his chair and tucked his feet beneath him, settling down to pick his selection of jam donuts and mousse.

"John, you know if you don't start acting normally, my mother's going to think you've lost it and excuse you from the table. Which no doubt would result in me being excused by association." He ignored the warning look and picked up a donut for himself and began to dismember it as he ate. His eyes were still glinting from the amusement of making the blond squirm so much without getting any of the blame put on himself.

"You're a troll." John accused back, sticking his tongue out at him. Relieved that Sherlock had temporarily stopped tormenting him, he then went about stuffing his face with as many donuts as possible before Sherlock got him evicted for causing another scene. He only stopped when he'd been through more than half a dozen donuts, after which he realised that maybe he might have overdone it a bit. When Mrs Holmes saw him rubbing his stomach and groaning a little, her gaze softened and she ruffled his hair. "Stomach ache, sweetheart?"  
"I think I ate a bit too much," he admitted with a little laugh, giving her cheek a kiss. "Both yours and Mrs Hudson's cooking is my weakness though, so it's quite worth the discomfort." John figured that if he flattered Sherlock's parents enough, he would ultimately get his revenge.

"Say it like you mean it, Watson, that statement lacked conviction." he murmured matter-of-factly before popping the last bite of his third donut into his mouth and leaning back into his chair. A content smile quirked his lips as he tilted his head back and stretched his arms under the table. He didn't look up again until his mother spoke and rolled his eyes, building the number up again at his friend's comment. He really was a suck up when he wanted to be. "It was a lovely dinner, mother, thank you." Sherlock gave his best attempt at a grateful smile through the food induced relaxation he was being subjected to. "I think we both managed to overdo it," he chuckled softly and shot a look at the blond again.

When the shorter boy returned the gaze with a lazy grin, John's mother chuckled too, looking between the pair of comfortable, slightly drowsy boys. "If you two wish to go to your rooms or something, you're excused." She offered, smiling at them both. John felt a little tipsy from far too much wine and reluctant to move from a very full belly. "For me, that would involve climbing the stairs. Apparently I wasn't lucky enough to get a room on the ground floor like Sherlock." He complained a little. There was that, and also the fact that he didn't quite want to leave his friend's company just yet.

Giving his mother an appreciative grin, he nodded and pushed his chair back, groaning at the movement before he stood up slowly and gave another groan. His head spun slightly before he gave an uncharacteristic giggle at the fact his bedroom wasn't upstairs. "Sucks to be you, I suppose you can come to my room for a little, until you recover. Unless there's an issue with that from any of the appropriate parties..." he paused and glanced from his own mother to John's and then to Mr Watson, all three of whom gave silent blessing before he nodded. "Whenever you can move yourself, just meet me there."

"Mmm, thank you, won't be long. And you know I love you even though you're a git, right?" he called after him with a happy laugh, not really thinking about the implications of what he was saying until Harry snickered beside him. Silencing a burp with the back of his hand, John stood and bid the whole family a temporary goodnight and Merry Christmas (he wasn't sure whether or not they'd be back later for a dance or two in the main drawing room) and followed the path Sherlock had taken to his room, undoing his belt on the way to relieve some of the pressure on his stuffed midsection. If they were spending the whole weekend here, John was going to seriously need to visit the gym when he got home.

"Oh I know, I'm just that endearing." he called back before leaning against the door to his bedroom heavily and pushing inside, taking the first opportunity to arise and flop onto his bed. Sherlock was fishing under his stomach, struggling with his buckle with his face buried in the pillow before he gave in and rolled over, huffing and finally getting it off and rolling onto his front again. If John didn't appear soon, he'd probably arrive to find Sherlock already asleep.

"Falling asleep already?" John asked with a giggle, kicking off his shoes before getting comfortable on the bed next to Sherlock. He gently ran his fingers through his dark hair. "Tonight's been great," he laughed softly. "I just wish I hadn't - urrp - drunk so much. Excuse me." He blushed a little. "Your mum's cooking is really, really good. I'm tempted to move in, although I'd lose my position on the varsity rugby team at school. My coach wouldn't be impressed."

"Bugger off." Sherlock mumbled into his pillow, the fond smile coming through in his tone before he let out an unexpected moan at the touch to his hair, reaching his hand up and pushing John's hand away. "Sensitive scalp, unfair advantage. Stop." He nodded his agreement and finally turned his head to look up at the blond resting beside him, his eyes half lidded with food and alcohol and actual happiness. "You really are a lightweight." he teased before humming and folding one arm under his chin. "Mhm, really good cooking and very high levels of being unimpressed. I concur."

John felt his heart skip a beat when Sherlock turned round to him with that expression, and he giggled softly. "Would you prefer a head massage or a belly rub? I'm good at both." He offered, snuggling closer to Sherlock with a contented smile. He also had a gift for him - he hoped Sherlock would like it.

"I'm not a cat you know." he muttered slowly, a hint of a pout on his lips before he leaned his head back into John's hand - despite what he'd just said - and smiled. He quirked an eyebrow as John moved closer but didn't complain, he didn't have the energy to do so even he'd wanted to anyway.

John's face lit up with a cheeky smirk and he went back to lightly massage his scalp. "Really? Are you sure about that? I often think you're as agile and smooth as one. And oh...your silky voice. I could listen to it forever," he sighed dreamily.

Sherlock gave a deliberate purr before laughing lightly and relaxing more into the bed. "I'd try and add that to your present but since you already opened it, and I don't have the energy to speak much, you'll have to do without." he murmured lazily, his free hand coming to settle on John's waist. If he was getting a head massage, John could get the belly rub that had been offered. Although it turned out to be more of a light finger tracing not dissimilar to what he'd been doing to his ankle earlier, the major difference being the layers of clothes between their skin.

John, being extremely grateful for any soothing touch to his currently overstuffed middle, quickly dispensed with his shirt, dropping it on the floor along with his jacket. "That wine stain's never going to come off," he complained, "thanks a lot." There was only fondness in his words, however, and he leaned into the touch.

Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion as John moved to do something, he didn't much care to open his eyes to find out either. Instead he replaced his hand flat against John's side, moving it up and over slowly until he realised he'd removed his shirt, so of course now his hand was splayed against his friend's skin as he stroked it over his stomach. "Not my fault your ticklish."

All Sherlock got was an appreciative moan in response, and John's hand back in his hair. "Your fingers feel amazing, just saying..." he yawned a little. "I'm guessing we won't make it back out in time for a dance before midnight? If not, there's always tomorrow."

A small chuckle passed his lips and he slipped his fingers upwards to brush at John's chest. "Are you asking me to dance, John?" he asked slowly, humour clear in his voice as his fingertips started to trace over his chest, drifting down and to the side slightly as he started to succumb to the food and alcohol.

"Maybe I am, but what are you going to do about it?" he smirked back, tugging gently on his curls and tucking his face into the crook of Sherlock's neck. Oh wow. He smelt delectable.

"Not a thing, I don't think I can move on the bed, never mind moving off it to dance." John's face felt like fire against his neck, his own skin incredibly cool by comparison as he moved his hand up further and slipped his long fingers over his friend's bare shoulder.

"That's true," John admitted honestly, dropping a kiss casually on his shoulder without realising it. He soon reached under the bed (the best place to hide Sherlock's gift, in named person's room) and picked up a wrapped gift. Inside were a few shirts in colours Sherlock didn't already own, a water and crack proof watch, and - in the pocket of one of the shirts - a small pure golden key ring. Shaped like a violin, the words 'To Sherlock, my hero, love from your best friend, John Watson' engraved on the back. "Merry Christmas, Sherlock," he smiled, giving it to him.

Humming his satisfaction at his point being accepted and agreed with, Sherlock's lips parted slightly at the kiss to his shoulder, his eyes flickering open to look at John when he reached under his bed. He was seriously starting to rub off on this boy and he wasn't sure that was a good thing…if John could manage to successfully keep this from him then who knows what else he could do. He pushed himself up with a groan to sit against the headboard and grinned, not lazy this time but full and happy, as his fingers ran over the different textures, finally resting on the key ring and lifting it up to read the inscription. "It's perfect, thank you, John." his smile softened as he turned his eyes onto the shorter teen and pressed a kiss to his forehead lightly.

John's cheeks turned a soft pink and he offered him a truly innocent, genuine smile. "You really like it?" he asked in a shy voice, "I just walked into a shop, and it...reminded me of you," he shrugged, looking away in embarrassment, "I mean, I know it's probably sentimental, which is why I balanced it out with the other practical stuff...and, yeah," he finished, biting his lower lip.

Sherlock nodded slowly and put his hand against John's cheek, the key ring resting between the heated skin and his own palm. "I love it." he assured him softly before leaning in and brushing their lips together. Seemingly coming to his senses in the middle of what he was doing, he lifted his head again and blinked down at his friend. "Oh God, I'm sorry...I didn't mean to do that.." Which of course, he had, just not like that. At least he had the alcohol to blame it on.

"Hey..." a smile lit up John's features - giddy and ecstatic and disbelieving. "Don't you dare tease me again! Wasn't dinner enough for you? Do that again!" he demanded.

"More than enough but I fail to see what...eating...has to - oh..." he cut himself off and laughed a little as he realised what John was referring to. He leaned in again and brushed their lips softly, teasing his chin up to part his friend's slightly with his own before letting them settle.

John hummed into the kiss, eyes fluttering closed. He wrapped his arms around his friend's waist, hugging him close and tight. Oh. This. This felt /right/. This felt perfect and wonderful and all those other gorgeous adjectives that John couldn't think of right now because Sherlock Holmes - the only person he had ever fallen for - was /kissing/ him.

Sherlock pulled back at the arms tugging him closer and smiled, his thumb coming down to stroke at the blonds still slightly parted lips. "I don't think I can talk to you so you can hear my voice but uh...I could do this." he offered quietly, his voice slightly thicker than before as he set the key ring back with the other gifts and set them on the floor delicately.

John let out a small groan of pleasure and nodded, opening his mouth just a little more and running his tongue along Sherlock's bottom lip.

Sherlock gasped slightly at the heat and moved closer to John, pulling another groan from him, and slipped his hand to his side as he kissed him again. Slightly deeper this time but still closed mouthed and sweet.

John knew it was his time to say it, and when they broke for air, he pulled back just enough to speak. "Sherlock..." he breathed softly, smiling at him with flushed features, "you're the only person I feel entirely comfortable around, the only person who knows me through and through, and the only person I can't imagine spending my life without. I think - no, I am certain that - I love you."

He lifted his head just barely so he could keep his eyes on John's as well as still feel the foreign breath on his lips, mingling with his own. He waited until his friend finished speaking before kissing him again and licking into his mouth slowly, tasting his lips before pulling back again and resting their foreheads together softly. "I love you too." he murmured confidently against his mouth.

John smiled, his stomach forgetting about being too full and doing somersaults of joy. The blond hugged his friend close, laughing with euphoria. "I'm glad..." he giggled, "really, really glad...Merry Christmas, Sherlock."

"Merry Christmas, John." he chuckled softly and bumped their noses together lightly before closing his eyes and relaxing more into his friend, if that was even possible.

Grinning lightly, John mumbled, "I think I'll be staying here tonight. This has got to be the best Christmas ever. I can't wait till you come over for New Year's."

"Neither can I, John," Sherlock answered with a smirk, "neither can I."


End file.
